


The shadow of the valley

by PrincessLiamer



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessLiamer/pseuds/PrincessLiamer
Summary: The characters are speaking in Spanish.  That's an important note.  Like, I'm trying to be subtle with that, through dialogue clues, since I don't know enough Spanish to write every interaction in the language, but unless I specify otherwise, they are speaking Spanish.





	

Kyle sat on a rock, staring at the sky. It looked beautifully blue and clear today. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He had wandered off from his family quite some time ago, and had been wandering around through the rocky mountains days over. He had crossed over them, and wasn’t sure where the hell he was anmore. Imagining how far he’d strayed was impossible. There was no sense of direction in his travel. He wasn’t sure if he had turned around anymore. He might be heading forward or back. He just knew he was heading down at this point. He had to be somewhere. Of course, it being the west, he might not be. There was so much unsettled territory. He was lucky to have survived the freezing temperature of the mountain range. It was cooler down at the mountain’s base. At least there wasn’t snow. It was actually getting warmer.  
Kyle isn’t exactly sure how he had made it. When he had gotten lost in the snow, he had been hunting. It wasn’t something he liked to do. But he didn’t refuse it, the way his traveling partner did. Kyle Broflovski and his parents were traveling with a few other families, the Marshes and the Cartmans along the Oregon trail. The Cartmans were just a boy, Eric, and his mother, Liane. Neither of them could hunt for shit. Then, there were the Marshes, whose makeup was their son, Kyle’s childhood friend, Stan Marsh, their parents, Randy and Sharon, their daughter Shelley and a dog named Sparky who had died along the way already. Randy had done most of the hunting up until they hit Colorado, but then Randy grew sick, and unable. By this point, Kyle imagine he must’ve died. Stan refused to take up hunting, and was in shock after the death of his dog. Kyle had a brother, Ike, who was too young to go hunting, a mother, Sheila, and his father, Gerald had never shot a gun in his life. He was just a lawyer. Of course, Kyle hadn’t gone hunting before, either, but he had been learning from Randy up until now. He and Shelley were doing the hunting. One day, the two of them got separated, and with about a hundred bullets, alone on the mountain, Kyle had no idea what to do. His basic instinct was to stay put, but it was a dangerous area. THere were plenty of wild bears, and it was October, so the bears were plentiful. He made his way as best he could back the way he had come. It took him many nights to get back out of the mountains. He survived off what he could, hunting anything. Only having to feed himself, he could make do with berries and a rabbit. In the pack on his back was a metal pot he could melt snow in.  
By now, Kyle had grown to resent the people he’d left behind, somewhat. He had almost died in the mountains because his father was incapable of surviving in the world. WIth Randy out the picture, that whole party was bound to fall apart. Kyle had seen a map of the trail. There was some upcoming post they could all rest at. Kyle had already played it out in his mind. His father probably gave up the search effort pretty quickly. They probably kept on their way after only a few days. Kyle thought he was probably going to die alone in the wilderness, while the rest of them made it to the outpost. They’d have no choice but to keep going on at that point. His father was always a bastard. Randy was, too, but he at least had a chance of guiding them all to safety. Ike was a prodigy in almost every regard, if anyone could lead the charge, it would be him. And Shelley was an amazing hunter, and would probably survive anything that came her way. The two of them could make it cross the continent. He hoped the best for his mother, and Mrs. Marsh. But if Eric Cartman were to get eaten by a bar, that’d be fine with him. As for Stan, he felt conflicted. Back when they were living in Virginia, they were the best of friends. In fact, Kyle wished there could be more there plenty of times. But now, after seeing how he broke down on the trail, he wasn’t sure how to feel about him. Kyle could understand holding to a moral code, but the situation was life or death. Leaving behind morals was an acceptable. Kyle looked back at the snowy mountains he was leaving behind. He could feel how warm it was. He hadn’t changed his clothes since he’d gotten lost, or washed them either. Kyle felt he had survived the mountain well enough. To his large pack was strapped a blanket, a canteen, his rifle, and a knife. Inside were some more key items. What formed the shape was a cooking pot, which was significantly heavy. Kyle had been walking alongside a creek for a while, following it downstream. Kyle took a moment to rest by its side. He put his pack down, and set about making a campfire. Kyle removed from his pack the large pot, taking everything else out in the process. He gathered water from the stream, and placed it securely on top of the fire.   
Kyle laid down his blanket and placed everything from inside his pack down on top of it while the water came to a boil. Once it did, he removed the pot and placed it to the side. The fire was still going, so Kyle took the Rabbit and placed it on the blanket as well. Kyle took a moment's hesitation, looking around the area, before beginning to strip. He put down his thick jacket, and put his shirt, pants and underwear into the pot. Kyle wasn’t entirely sure how to clean his clothes, he admitted, but he knew this had to help. While his clothes sat in the pot, Kyle took to skinning the rabbit, and then cooking it over the fire, before starting to wring his clothes out, then draping them over a nearby branch to dry. Kyle searched his blanket for any soap he might have left. Unfortunately, he didn’t. With a sigh, he dipped his hand into the pot, feeling it’s warmth, and then dumping it over his head, in an attempt to get some of the dirt off of him. It felt good on his skin. He sat back down and rubbed himself dry with the dirty blanket a bit.   
Kyle wasn’t sure how he’d survived so long on his own for so long. Without a method of keeping time, going off the sun’s cycle, he’d lost such notions a while ago. All he had still was the will to survive. Kyle sat on his blanket thinking about the ways he could die. Disease, infection, something bad he’d eaten. An animal could come out of the woods right now and kill him while he sat there, naked, and no one would ever know. But Kyle had to keep going until he died, just as he went on before. Though his life seemed so different now from just a few months ago, he knew he would eventually make his way out of this situation. He looked in his collection of bullets. He had sixty rounds. Nothing would take him. Kyle redressed himself in semi dry clothes, keeping his jacket off, and repacked up his pack, setting out with his rifle in hand.  
After a few hours, Kyle had made his way along a lake from one side to the other. It looked clear for miles off, with few trees. By now, putting his jacket back on sounded like a terrible time. The temperature change from a day ago seemed dramatic. He knew for certain he had gone the opposite way for a while. But no way in hell would he cross the mountains again on foot. Now, the trouble was where would he go now? Pulling out his compass, his decision was west.  
Kyle couldn’t see much food for him to hunt anymore. Nor did he see a town that could provide him respite. Thinking about it, this could very well be the end of his story. His family went off to Oregon with some family friends, while he started a life in wherever the hell he was. Or maybe he would just end up baking in the sun. The fear of death crept into every thought. He was in good health, despite how poorly fed he was. He tried telling himself this fear was unnatural. But it couldn’t seem like it was.  
Another hour past. Now, it felt like death could be expected. How could there be simply no one? Days, possibly even weeks, with no human contact. The sun was coming close to setting. It kept Kyle on track, while at the same time, blinding him. He looked off at the horizon and could see specks upon it. He wondered what they were. He wondered if he would make it to them. He had his doubts. The wind howled in his ears. But, from a southern wind, he heard a noise. It was a familiar noise. The sound of horse’s hooves. Kyle turned to face the noise, and was surprised to see a horse traveling across the horizon, a man mounted on top. He saw as they ran, majestically, shadows behind them. Kyle raised his arms to the sky, swinging them about, and shouted, “HEY! He-HEY! OVER HERE! I NEED HELP! HELP!” And then he cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “HEEEELP! PLEASE!” He watched as the horse and their rider came to a stop, and then felt delight grow inside of him as they turned and ran towards them. They came in fast, rearing up in front of him but a moment later. Kyle looked up at the person, and his first thought was how incredibly distinct this person looked. On a big, brown mustang sat a big, deeply brown skinned man. He wore a wide brimmed hat, which streamed light below his nose against his face, which looking at seemed soft, but powerful. He glared down at him with deep brown eyes. He had an unshaven look, and a snare of teeth showing. He definitely was not happy looking at Kyle. A poncho wrapped around his neck and was blown behind him by the force of the wind. Under it was a buttoned up white shirt. His pants were covered by chaps, strapped to his belt, and around his waist hung a revolver.  
Kyle looked up at him with wonderment like a child, until he spoke, “Quien eres tu?” Kyle wasn’t sure what was said. “De donde en el infierno vienes?”  
Looking down at the boy in front of him, the rider thought, ‘dumb bastard. Doesn’t even speak spanish. How the hell did he end up here? And what’s with all of this equipment? Is he expecting to move here? Won’t make it a day.’ Then, it clicked in Kyle’s mind. It had been a while, and this was his first time being able to use it in an actual conversation, but he spoke clearly and slowly in spanish, “My name is Kyle Broflovski. I don’t know where I am, and I am not sure if I can survive out here on my own.”  
The mounted rider stared back with surprise. He was caught off guard. Most of the white people he had met before had never even heard the spanish language before. And he had run into a stranger speaking it, even if at a snail’s pace, on the edge of the the other side of the what is now New Mexico.  
“Where did you come from?” the rider asked again.  
Kyle took a second to translate in his head, “I was headed to the west coast with family. To a place called Oregon. I am expecting to move there. But I got lost hunting. Now I am here.” the boy on the horse had heard of Oregon. He didn’t know much about it, though. This man in front of him had traveled far, surely, though. The vaquero got down off his horse and looked over at Kyle, putting a hand to his belt. He looked him in the eye and told him, “Put the bag down.”  
“What?”  
“The bag. Put it down, I’m gonna look through it.”  
Kyle raised the rifle in his hands, not pointing it at the man asking for his bag, but being prepared to fire his gun, mounting it against his shoulder, pointing it down wards, ready to raise it to blast him down. “If you think you can feel free to steal from me, then you should guess, again. Just because this isn’t somewhere, with no people.”  
“I’m not stealing from you. I just need to look at your supplies.” He entirely planned to steal from him. If he had anything good, he would be totally willing to take it. Of course, he had a gun in his face this time. He would steal, but he didn’t want this to end in a shoot out. He just needed a chance. He could steal his gun out of his hands, and then, he’d be powerless. Shame, he thought. Leaving such an interesting man alone to die. Not often a white man ends up being able to talk to him.  
Kyle considered his options momentarily. And then, he put down his bag down on the ground. The vaquero walked around to the bag, not taking his off of Kyle. He turned his gaze to the pack, and got on his knees, beginning to search through it. But what he found was disappointing. There was no food, and no money. There was nothing. Just some crappy survival equipment, nothing you could make it through Arizona on, and strange to have gotten over the Rockies on. Whoever bought much of it must have been an idiot. There was a helpful suture for any deep cuts, a toothbrush and some teeth cleaning powder. He did have a good canteen, he at least knew people need water to survive. A fair enough knife, but such purposeless designs covering it. What were some of these things covering its side and base? This was a boat, definitely, but certain smaller pieces were vague.   
He holstered the blade and turned to Kyle. He gave him a week more alone. Heading the way he was heading, he’d get bitten by bark scorpion or some other bug, if he’s lucky. If not, he’d just die in the Arizona sun. Not worth even stealing from. He decided it’d be better to just leave him with the gun. And all his crap. He tried lifting the pack to hand it back to him, but the damn thing weighed a good twenty pounds. He questioned what the hell kind of guardian angel kept this man alive for so long, with so little useful equipment and carrying all this crap.  
Kyle took the bag back and slung it over his shoulder. The best idea was to keep going now that he wasn’t going to be getting anything out this guy. Kyle asked him, “What is your name?”  
He looked at him, and considered it no more or worse for him to tell him. “My name’s David Rodriguez.”  
“Well, David, I know I’ve got nothing to pay you with, but if you could help me get somewhere. Somewhere, a town?”  
David considered him an idiot for asking. No way in hell would he help one of the bastards after everything they’d done. But, inside David, there was another thought. He looked at this idiot with no idea where he was. They stood next to one another, About six inches separated in height. David decided it wouldn’t hurt to give him some direction. David raised his hand and pointed East. “I’m riding away from a town in that direction. There, you might find some more generous people.”  
Kyle looked off where he was pointing, and then looked the other way. “What about that way? Where is a stop?”  
David looked where he pointed, then back at Kyle with confusion. “Why would you want to head that way?”  
“The mountain range I just crossed is between me and my family. I will not go back over it, so I’m going to take an alternate route to Oregon.”  
“Are you serious? What kind of fool are you?” David looked out to the west. Where they were currently was Mexican territory. Just east was the new AMerican Region. If he headed east, by just a bit, he would be much safer. But instead, he asked to head further east.  
“I need to get back to my family. So I’m heading West.”  
“How are you going to do that? What stands in front of you is desert. You’ll be lucky to make it a hundred miles on foot.”  
“I just need to know where the next town is. Then you’ll be done with me.”  
“Tch,” David scoffed at him. “What do you think’s gonna happen when you get there? You’ll just get some kind of hand out, and you can keep going on your merry way?”  
Kyle paused, “What?”  
David had talked to fast for Kyle to catch. “Allow me to restate: How are you going to survive with no money?”  
Kyle took a moment to think about that. “I could probably pick up a job in the next town. Anything. And after spending some time working, I’ll earn enough money for a spot on some carriage moving even further West. It may take years, but nothing can stop me from living on. And with my life, I’ll make it to Oregon.”  
David saw conviction in his eyes. He liked it. David took a moment to reconsider. THis man most certainly started climbing those Rocky Mountains with shit gear and not a clue, but he made his way single handedly across. He might be a better survivor than he was giving him credit. But still, a desert was a very different setting than a mountain. He wasn’t prepared for that situation. David decided to give him a break. “If you want to survive, first you’ll need to lose most of the crap. Just about everything useful, you could fit in my horse’s saddle packs.”  
“Well, couldn’t I sell it?”  
“You hungry?”  
“Yes.” Of this, if nothing else, Kyle was very sure.  
“Then you’re going to want to get food as soon as possible. I’m offering to give you a ride. I’ll drop you off at the next town. If you’re going to get a job, then you might as well start everything over.”  
Kyle had his concerns that this might be an attempt to rob him, but reluctantly put his bag back down and let David show him what in his bag would be useful. David got onto his horse, which whinnied as he hopped into the saddle. Kyle stared up at him, and then down at the dirty spurs of his boot. From behind the dirt, the spurs still shined. Kyle saw David lower his hand to Kyle. He looked up at David’s eyes. “C’mon, I’m offering you a ride, quit lollygagging.”  
Kyle looked back at his hand, and took hold of it, letting him hoist him up onto the horse. Then, the two of them rode off into the setting sun.


End file.
